Let the Time for Parting be Sweet: SYOT
by The Impossible Girl on Fire
Summary: The Hunger Games is tastier than ever. In an arena where nothing is as it seems, can your tribute be the one to make it through? *SYOT, six spots left.*
1. The President and The Form

Iridesca awoke, the sound of the Capital's anthem thrumming out from her speakers and groaned internally. Of course it was simply lovely to have music played every morning, swelling slowly to help her to rise from sleep, but did it always have to be that same tired old song? Honestly, it was just dreary. The melody was drab, and it wasn't always he first thing she wanted to hear every day. Although, it wasn't exactly like she had a choice.

Iredesca stretched under the covers of her silk blanket, raising her arms over her head and arching her back as a soft ahhh escaped her lips. She really should be getting up just about now, but the bed was so warm and the air of her room wasn't quite as comfortable.

After a few moments of silent warring within her mind, the capital anthem starting playing again, a reminder that she had to get up. Today was a quite big day, after all.

The carpet felt soft beneath Iredesca's feet as she lifted herself out of bed, pouting all the way. She was right- it wasn't quite warm enough. She walked toward the screen that encompassed most of the left wall of her otherwise periwinkle room, and adjusted the temperature, instantly feeling a gush of warm air seeming to rise from the floor. "Lovely."

She walked along the lush carpet to open her door, behind which her stylists were waiting, one holding a tray of farm more breakfast food than she could possibly eat. Clara, Zephra, and Trillessa were the only people ever to see her this early, before her face was on. It was a delicious, comfortable routine.

After all, it wasn't as though the president of Panem could dress herself.

Iredesca turned and strode to her spa style chair in the left corner of the room. She sat down unto the smoothe, periwinkle-dyed leather seat, turned on some relaxing music with the click of a button on the arm of a chair, and shut her eyes. It would be another two hours or so before she was ready to leave that chair, and so it was imparitive that she enter a zen-like state, otherwise she'd drive herself positively mad. Zephra set the tray to hover a few inches above the lap of the president, who, keeping her eyes closed, took a delicate sip of the orange juice before fulling settling into the chair.

"Remember, today I must be magnificent," spoke Iredesca with a cold efficiency. "That is your job."

Zephra coughed quietly and peered at Iridesca through her deep purple eyelashes, her silver lips pursed. "You always loo-"

"As I said, your job is to make me look magnificent." Her eyes open for a moment to glare at Zephra. "Not to speak."

Iridesca closed her eyes again, not paying mind to Zephra's reaction. She didn't have time for nonsense today. The next several weeks of the Capitals attention were at stake today. There could not be another screw up like last years. Choosing the game maker, and therefore the arena, was imperative. Today was to be a day of endless meetings, and a final decision. She simply would not have her head clattered with her stylist's incessant chatter.

She took one last sip of her orange juice, tasting the tangy sweetness of it against her tongue, then sent away the tray with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"You may begin."

...

Hey there guys! I'm Nat, and I'll be your game maker! You probably know how SYOTs go, so I'll keep it short. Give me your people, and I'll make things happen! You may submit up to three characters, one true tribute and two bloodbaths. You are not required to submit bloodbaths, but they will earn you more sponsor points when that point of the game comes around. There will be more about that in a later post. Without much more ado, here's the SYOT form! Thanks for reading! Oh, and Id MUCH prefer it if you sent in your forms through PM, however review is acceptable for extenuating circumstances.

SYOT Form-

Name:

Nickname (Optional):

Gender:

Age:

District (Put down 3 choices):

Appearence (I want a description, not a picture. At least a paragraph.):

History (At least two paragraphs:

Family (Not only names. Personality descriptions, jobs, and how hey feel about eachother, please.):

Reaped/Volunteered:

Reason/Reaction:

Token (Optional):

Goodbyes (Optional/Might not be used):

Weaknesses (At least 2):

Strengths(At most 4):

Fears:

Favorites:

What did they learn during training:

What did they show the gamemakers:

What was there training score (Try to be semi-realistic. I may change this if I feel the need.):

Interview Angle:

Bloodbath Tribute? (See the points page as to why it's good to submit a bloodbath):

Alliance?:

Open to romance?

Weapon of Choice (At Most 3):

Anything else?

Have a lovely day!


	2. The Tributes

Perhaps you've known them your whole life, or you've only seen them on the street. The child who won that sadistic lottery. Perhaps they liked to read books in your living room because you were one of the wealthier in your district and could afford the luxury of books. Perhaps you used to sell them strawberries in the black market, or beg them for bread when they had a spare piece. And maybe they gave it to you, or maybe they didn't. But you knew them. They were just another part of the scenery, like the guards, the hunters, the teachers. But that didn't matter anymore.

That poor child had been chosen to be one of 23 to die. But, you supposed, it could be worse.

They could win.

...

**The Tributes**

**District One {Luxury}**

M:

F: Drew Kress (16)

**District Two {Masonry}**

M: Tympanius Mordent (16)

F: [RESERVED]

**District Three {Technology}**

M: [RESERVED]

F: Cyrene Polymer (13)

**District Four {Fishing}**

M: Arthur Conoway (18)

F: Crescilia Winters (18)

**District Five {Power}**

M:

F: Anaïs Leaven (16)

**District Six {Transportation}**

M:

F: Elizabeth Woodson (15)

**District Seven {Lumber}**

M: Xenophon Cupress (15)

F: Areti Canalea (14)

**District Eight {Textiles}**

M:

F: Antiquity Villiers (14)

**District Nine {Grain}**

M:

F: Iris Lynch (12)

**District Ten {Livestock}**

M: Hex Delian (12)

F: Lia Withers (15)

**District Eleven {Agriculture}**

M: Jason Riley (17)

F: Zaphrina Xall (16)

**District Twelve {Coal Mining}**

M:

F: Sophia Robbinson (16)

Hello loves! As you can seem we have six open spaces! Please keep submitting, and I'll keep you updated! Thank you kindly!

~Nat


	3. The Sponsors

**~How to gain Sponsor points~**

*Every tribute creator automatically gets 10 points per chapter once the Games begin*

**Reviewing**- 10 points (per review, one per chapter)

**Answering the Bonus Questions**- 5 points (per answer)

**Submitting a bloodbath Tribute**- 25 points (per bloodbath, up to two per person)

**Sponsoring a character when you do not have your own**- 40 points

**Your tribute dies (not including bloodbaths)**- 25 points

**Pointing out grammatical or spelling errors in writing**- 10 points (per correction)

**~How to spend sponsor points~**

*In order to spend Sponsor points you must PM me using the Sponsor Spending Form (see below)

_**-Survival-**_

**Gallon of water**- 10 points

**Loaf of bread-** 10 points

**Box of matches (15)**- 10 points

**Think blanket**- 15 points

**Flashlight**- 15 points

**Spile**- 20 points

**Insulated sleeping bag**- 30 points

**Insulated Jacket**- 35 points

**Medicine**- 40-60 points (specify)

**Other**- 5-60 points (specify)

_**-Weapons-**_

**Wires, Nuts, Bolts**- 15 points

**Small weapon (Small knife, slingshot, brass knuckles)**- 15 points

**Poison**- 35 points

**Larger weapon (Axe, longsword, Archery equipment, spear)**- 50 points

**Other**- 5-60 points (specify)

**~Sponsor Spending Form~**

Current points:

Item you want:

Item worth:

New point total:


	4. The Nightmare

_**Drip.**__  
_

**_Drip_**.

**_Drip_**.

_The world was color- butterflies before a yellow sky and cerulean fish swimming in a glowing, rose- pink ocean. The world was scent- the cotton candy perfume of the cloud beneath her feet, and the salty sweetness of the ocean off the edge of the cliff._

_**Drip**._

_The world was texture- the softness of the slid blades of grass touching her calves, and the rough tongue of the tame cat softly licking her cheek._

_**Drip**._

_The world was sound- sweet violin music playing over the sound of waves crashing. And dripping, the sound of dripping._

_**Drip**._

_The world was wet- blood dripping from her palms, her eyes, her mouth, her nose, growing in a puddle on the ground. The world was pain- an acrid green stinging her skin, burning through her nostrils, making blood seep through her skin. The world was loud. The waves growing taller and wilder on the rocky edges of the cliff. The cat, now growing and twisting into a mutt, hissing and growing and lapping up the blood from the the sound of screaming. Of bloodcurdling cries for hope, for mercy, for anything but the feel of her knife going in again and again and again and again and again and ag-_

Cersei's eyes opened, her heart pounding in her chest. The screaming. It hadn't stopped she writhed in bed, squirming and screaming until she realized the sound was wripping out of her own throat. She stopped, gasping at the effort. Her hands ran over her arms, her face, her legs.

No blood.

It was just a bad dream.

She collapsed back onto her bed and pulled her legs up to her chest. Her short blonde hair was in matted knots on the back of her neck and damp with sweat. Her pale skin was sticking to her nightgown, and she was deathly pale.

A creak echoed through her empty house and she felt herself reaching for the steak knife she kept under her bed.

A shaky breath escaped her. Tomorrow was the reaping and she'd have to carry two new kids through the games, two kids who wanted to win.

But they didn't understand. The truth of it was in her screams in the middle of the night, her shaking hands as she lifted a drink to her lips. It was in the knife she kept beneath her pillow and the cold sweats that made her wake up, shivering.

It was in the hollow gaze she seemed to share with all the victors.

They didn't want to lose the Hunger Games. And maybe they wouldn't, but they also wouldn't win.

No one won the Hunger games.

She took her hand off the knife and tried to fall asleep.

...

Hey loves! I still need just about all the tributes. So yeah. Submissions would be lovely. Have a great day!

~Nat


	5. The Dreamer

**District Nine - Reaping**

_Iris Lynch_

Light poured in through the thin lavender curtain covering the window, and the air smelled of bread and cinnamon. For a moment Iris allowed herself to smile, eyes still closed against the soft light protruding through her eyelids. Her mother usually only ever made breakfast on special occasions. But then the moment passed and Iris's smile faded. Of course she had made breakfast, and of course it was cinnamon roles- Iris's favorite. It was Reaping Day.

A chill ran through the girl, and she opened her eyes as she let out a wistful sigh. She could lay in her bed all day, watching the light flitter like fairy wings through the leaves of the elm tree outside her window. Sometimes Iris liked to imagine that she lived in that tree and danced with other other fairies through its branches in the early morning when the light was golden and the birds were singing.

Iris liked to imagine a lot of things.

Iris flung herself out of bed, landing gracefully on her toes and discarding her plain brown blanket. Her lavender curtains were the only touch of color in his otherwise boring room, with its beige walls and own, rickety furniture. Still, it was nicer than most in her district. And she got to have her special box.

Her worn grey nightgown stuck to her thighs as she made her way to the mirror. Iris couldn't do much with her hair, as her stupid, rib-length, curly, red locks always seemed to be in a ratty, knotted mess. She settled with pulling it into a huge, messy knot at the top of her head and securing it with a light blue ribbon that used to belong to her sister, Vulcra. But that was before.

Iris didn't own many nice things outside of what belonged in her box, but her sister had had a few pretty dresses that were finally beginning to fit her. One that Iris liked the most was a simple knee-length dress that made her feel like a princess or a ballerina when she wore it around her room. She slid it on, then took a long look at herself in the mirror. Her blue eyes were wide and stood out on her pale, freckled face. Her features were delicate, giving her the look of an elf or a bird. How much easier it would have been to be a bird, she thought. She'd just fly away and leave it all behind.

Living in her own world only worked so well when the real one tended to seep through the corners.

Iris skipped out of her room after grabbing her notebook. It was the same blue as her eyes with shiny pennies and broken chains and pieces of tin foil carefully arranged and glued to the cover, creating a semblance of butterfly wings. It was the fourth notebook she'd had since Vulcra died. The rest were at the bottom of her box, filled with page after page of stories and songs and drawings. Mostly hers, but some were Nilah's.

When Iris entered the kitchen, her mom was already gone. There was a note on the rickety kitchen table, next to a small glass of milk and some cinnamon. Good luck, Iris. That was it. That was all she got on her first Reaping Day. Perhaps Iris would have gotten angry, not that she was the type for anger, but she thought the light shining through the top of the milk glass and onto the table looked so pretty, and spent the next few moments eating her bread and watching the light dance on the worn wood.

...

"Iris? Hello?"

"Wha- oh. Sorry." Iris was pulled back to attention as her best friends tan fingers snapped infront of her face. Nilah had been saying something about the Reaping. Probably something about how Iris was going to be fine, and that the whole process wasn't that big of a deal and that she shouldn't be nervous. Not that Iris was nervous, but Nilah was always trying to protect her from something. But then, Nilah was the eldest of five, so it was just in her nature.

Nilah frowned, and Iris's attention was drawn immediately to the pretty way her harsh, short dark hair contrasted with her light brown, gold-flecked eyes. All of Nilah's face was severe and harsh, except those eyes. That was Iris's favorite part of her best and only friend. Even when she was angry, Iris could always see how much she cared in her eyes.

"Iris," Nilah waved a hand infront of her face. "Focus."

"What, I was listening," she spoke, her voice breathy and distracted.

Nilah cocked an eyebrow. "Then what did I just say?"

Rather than answer, Iris started humming the melody to a song her mom used to song her when she went to sleep and skipped faster toward the Reaping check in. They were nearly there, and while Iris didn't like the Games, she always liked looking at the capital people. Especially the District Nine escort, Avada, who was always so shiny.

"Iris, please." Nilah reached for her friend's hand and her eyes shown with a protective concern. Iris flinched slightly and pulled her hand away. "Try to take this seriously."

"I won't get chosen, Nilah." Iris's eyes darted around them in wonder as the town square grew closer. They had brought in the same fascinating silver screens as they did every year, and everyone was all dressed up. Iris started to feel her heart flutter a bit as the people around them got closer in. She loved watching people, memorizing them, but she didn't much like being touched.

"And what about me?" Her friend's voice was come, but beneath it was a note of desperation. This made Iris focus on her. "My name's in twelve times this year." She glanced at the ground. "I just couldn't let Clara put her in more than he had to. The girls shared a look, then were separated momentarily to pass through the check in. They instantly joined back at the hip, each sucking their fingers where they had been pricked.

Iris smiled at her friend, and spoke in a singsong voice. "Don't worry, yooouuu won't get reaaaped." Nilah frowned at her. "Nilah," Iris spoke," you just won't. I like you too much." She grinned, squeezed her best and only friend's hand, then skipped over to the twelve year-old section without another word. Nilah watched her go, shaking her head sadly, then moved to the area with the other thirteens.

It wasn't long before the video had begun then ended, and Avada Lilt walked onto the stage, tall and spindly as a spider. Her face was odd, a combination of extremely prominent cheek bones that were lightened with a soft silver glitter, and thin lips that were painted a faint white-gold. Her hair was down and flat, falling around her waist in a sleek golden line. Her eyes were a watery blue, and slightly too small for her face. Her floor length dress was the same thin color, but faded to silver sparkles at the bottom. All Iris could think about was the way she seemed to shimmer as she floated across the stage.

"Welcome, darlings, to the twenty-fourth hunger games," the women spoke in a voice that was evidently flat and bored. It was no secret escorting District Nine, the Grain district, wasn't the most desirable job. No one won here. "Without much further ado, ladies first."

The skyscraper of a women lumbered across the stage and hurriedly reached into the bowl of names, and plucked out someone's death certificate. Iris thought it was so strange, how a piece of paper could kill someone. Avada walked back to the microphone and spoke in a crisp, clear tone. "Clara Morin."

For a split second, time seemed to stop. Clara was in the same grade as Iris. Clara liked to draw during free time in class, like Iris. Clara sometimes walked to school with Nilah and Iris when she didn't sleep in. Clara had Nilah's warm, soft eyes.

"I volunteer." Her voice was a part of the wind, gliding over everyone until it reached Avada at the front. Iris didn't remember choosing to do it, and even as she made her way through the crowd, vaguely noting the sound of Nilah screaming in her name in the background, she didn't believe it was all real. It seemed like a dream, and as she walked to the stage she waited for the part where she would turn into a bird and fly away.

...

_Hello loves! As you may have gathered, I'm not doing things in order. Every single character (even bloodbaths) will have a chapter in their POV before they go into the arena. Only I get to know the order, so you'll just have to keep checking the story :) however I can tell you that there will be three Reaping chapters, three Goodbye chapters, three Train chapters, two Chariot chapters, Three chapters on the first day of training, three on the second day of training, three on the private session with the game makers, two with the score reveal, and two on the last day of training. I'm going to try to get each group done within the span of a week, so this week there will be two more Reaping chapters in two different POVs. So yeah! Let me know if you have any questions, and Id love if you guys could give me feedback on my writing!_

**Current Sponsor Points**

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_La Solitudine_- 0 Points


	6. The Vigilante

**District One - Reaping**  
_Drew Kress_

She was already awake when the sun came up. She had been awake when the sun went down. She had also been awake when the moon was high and the stars were out and she could just barely see the lights of the capital glowing in the distance, all white and gold and pink. She'd be seeing it up close soon enough. Drew had spent the night staring at those lights, and wondering if she could do what she set out to do. Her mother had once told her that staying angry was like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die, but Drew disagreed. And she was just just about ready to shove some poison down the capital's throat.

The bleach-blonde Career waited till the birds began singing to actually get out of bed. She'd been too anxious to catch even a moment of sleep, so she was certain that she must look horrible. She lifted herself swiftly out of bed and strode past her brother's empty bed, which was a slightly darker blue than the walls, which were a slightly darker blue than Drew's. She could never quite look at the blue without thinking about him, even as she forgot the exact green of Kaleb's eyes. She would never forget the way he laughed, though. Or held her by the hand as they crossed the street. Or the way that bitch from District Two had carved his eyes out of his skull.

Drew opened the door of her bedroom and tiptoed down the hallway toward the bathroom, her brother's old, gray shirt landing around mid-thigh. She creeped into the restroom, feeling the cool tile, smooth beneath her feet. Her reflection didn't actually look as awful as she had thought it would. Her green-blue eyes were alert, a sort of fiery light in their expression. Her smooth skin was a bit pale, and there were slight bags under her eyes, but nothing you could notice if you weren't paying too much attention. Her lips were full, but chapped. She stilly put on some lip balm, the only bit of makeup she owned, pulled her hair into a sleek ponytail, then moved quietly through the hall then back into her bedroom.

She'd laid out her clothes the night before. A comfortable, loose peach tunic and a pair of soft, light brown stretchy pants. She pulled them on, going over her plan, which was finally about to begin, then rushed out the door without eating.

...

Drew didn't have any friends. It wasn't because she was cruel or unlikable. When she was younger, she didn't need anyone but her brother. And after he was murdered, she didn't want anyone else. It was because of this that it wasn't a surprise that no one paid any mind to her as she took a morning jog around the District. But that was exactly how Drew liked it. She'd spent the past nine years preparing for what was to come. Her focus couldn't be swayed by some silly high school girls, or some fling with Clay Pharaoh, who'd been trying to get into her pants since she hit puberty, but gave up sometime last year after she punched him in the face for trying to kiss her.

As she finished her third lap of District One, Drew saw that the town square had begun to fill up. Without a moments hesitation or distraction, Drew quickly made her way through the checkin, wiping the blood from the prick on her pants. She made her way swiftly to the eighteens, and waited. It was about another ten minutes till the town square was full, and no one made any move to speak with her.

Everyone knew who she was. They knew her as the poor little girl who had lost her big brother, who had only been thirteen at the time, to the games. The poor little girl who grew up to be taller than any other girl her age. Who was lean and muscular, who had trained from the day her brother had been brutally killed by the Victor of the 15th Hunger Games, Katya Stirring. Who was going to volunteer, and who was going to win.

She didn't like killing, and she wasn't some kind of masochist. She needed to win. She needed to become a Victor, because Victors had power. It was the power she was after. And she could do it... She had to. For Kaleb.

The faces around her were prim and polished, all the other girls with their hair curled or in braids, and their eyelashes heavy with mascara. It was all so stupid. Who cared what they looked like? Everyone knew this was Drew's year.

The proceedings went by in a blur. The Capitol video was the same as every year, and Firmier Greystone, their district's escort, made a flamboyant speech about Panem and pride and what an honor it was to die for your country. Drew tried not to be disgusted. They were murdering little kids, there was nothing honorable about that.

Drew didn't pay much attention to what the escort was saying, but instead focused on looking serious and determined, which required suppressing a laugh. Firmier's hair was its usual red and yellow combination, giving the affect that his hair was actually a flame, and spiked up on the top of his head. That was the norm. What made Drew want to laugh was his hot pink and gold bodysuit. It clung to his body, making the already lanky man seem even skinnier thank usual. It was mainly pink, but faded to gold around his wrists and ankles. The effect made him look like a piece of candy dipped in glitter. And he was barefoot. Drew knew that he was gay. It pretty much made him the laughing stock of the district. She didn't care much though, but he was utterly ridiculous on his own right.

"And now, for the selection!" His voice was high pitched, and he spoke animatedly with his hands, like he was putting on a show. "And our lovely lady tribute this year is..." He hopped over to the bowl of names, pulled one out, and skipped back over in a half moment, as if it were the most exciting thing in the world. As if he wasn't condemning someone to death. "Mar-"

"I volunteer." Drew's voice came out cool and confident, moving over the heads of the others in the square with little effort. She squared her shoulders and strode smoothly up toward the stage, without the help of any peacekeepers.

"Well, well, well," Firmier said, with laughter in his voice and a smile on his lips. "Aren't you a pretty little thing."

"Drew Kress." She didn't pay him any mind, simply moved onto the stage and stood next to him.

He took her hand and kissed it with with a flourish. "Ooh, I like you." He turned back to the audience. "Your tribute, Drew Kress."

There was no applause, other than Drew's parents, who looked vaguely uneasy, but smiled and clapped hesitantly, looking at their daughter from the crowd. But Drew didn't need applause. She looked out on the crowd and thought about what she was about to too. Everything was going to change, or she'd die trying.

...

_Hellos! Here is our second reaping chapter! Once again, I have updated the tribute list, so if you want to submit another tribute, and you haven't already submitted three, go ahead! Give me your feedback! I love hearing it. If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, my PM box is wide open! Have a lovely day~_

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